Oil on canvas panel 8"x10"
Here we are cold again. My azaleas are blooming and the dogwoods all around are peeking through the woods like shy angels.
I'm dreaming of the beaches of my life. There has always been a beach either close by, such as when I lived there when my father was in training for the Navy, when I lived there as a young newlywed, and now just 2 1/2 hours away whenever I want to go. It still thrills me to walk along the shore and pick up treasures or to take my raft and float in on a wave.
At the Sea-Side
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.
Robert Lewis Stevenson